


Long Was the Way

by liveyourstory



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liveyourstory/pseuds/liveyourstory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hydra has something special in mind for Agent Carter</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Was the Way

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from a poem of Tolkien's, 'Song of Beren and Lúthien':
> 
> Long was the way that fate them bore,  
> [...]  
> And yet at last they met once more

The Soldier could hear a low murmuring coming from the holding cell as he marched down the long corridor, followed by a small team of highly trained, heavily armed men whose job it was to ensure he was returned to the Keepers with no mess. No doubt the team had radioed ahead to alert everyone else as to what had happened that afternoon and now the lot of them were arguing about consequences and the best way to discipline him. He didn’t care; he had failed in his mission (for the first time, the retrieval team had commented, concerned and suspicious) and whatever had caused the failure had to be resolved.

All conversation stopped as the Soldier appeared in the doorway; as one, the Keepers turned to face him, their watchful eyes on him as he entered the room properly. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or judgement in their gaze; he was more familiar with the former, but it could just as easily be the latter given that what should have been a straightforward mission had been left unfinished. He wondered, vaguely, if that ought to bother him.

He kept his head down as he made his way over to the centre of the room, where machines were set up around his chair. His chair. The one piece of furniture in the room, and the one area none of the Keepers congregated around if they could help it. People were supposed to be proud of their belongings; they horded all manner of things, from the pointless (as far as he could tell) to the useful to the can’t-live-without. They took pride in their ownership. The Soldier had seen it, in his marks and in the lives he crossed when he was awake, but he couldn’t relate. He had no possessions, nothing of his very own. Everything that passed through his hands, from the weapons he carried to the clothes on his back, even the memories out of his own damn head, were taken back by someone eventually. Except his chair. No one ever seemed interesting in claiming that.

He sat on it now, carefully perched on the edge instead of settling back against the leather like he was supposed to. He knew what was coming, knew there was no point trying to fight it (he’d attempted it before, he was sure. The knowledge that he had was there, somewhere in his mind, but there was no actual memory to accompany it), and yet he was filled with the urge to resist. He didn’t want to forget, he wanted to remember. Just this one thing. Something had happened on the mission and now it niggled at him, frustratingly out of reach but oh so close. He would sit back and let them fix him again, mold him back into the flawless weapon he was intended to be, if they’d just answer his question first.

He knew it shouldn’t matter, that they’d rip the knowledge straight back out of hands as soon as it was in his grasp, along with all the other memories of this latest mission, but he didn’t care. He wanted to know. He _needed_ to know.

‘You failed.’ A soft but cruel sounding voice drifted over from the doorway. Dürrenmatt, the Soldier’s main handler, was the first person the Soldier saw upon waking and the last person he saw before darkness claimed him. He never raised his voice, but he didn’t need to. His low, even tone could capture people’s attention far better than shouting ever could.

‘Yes.’ The Soldier replied, hunching further into himself.

‘Why?’

The Keepers were holding their breath now, watching the events unfold in front of them with a cold curiosity. The Soldier didn’t answer straight away, and when the silence stretched and it became clear he wasn’t going to, Dürrenmatt stomped across the room, limping heavily. The Soldier caught a brief glance of well-polished shoes in his line of vision before there were fingers curling in his hair and his head was wrenched back.

‘I asked you a question. Why was the target not eliminated?’

The Soldier blinked slowly, making no attempt to free himself. ‘The woman, she—’

‘Yes?’

‘She called me—’

Something flickered across Dürrenmatt’s expression, gone in an instant. ‘What did she call you?’

‘…I don’t remember.’ The Soldier frowned, his gaze vacant, but Dürrenmatt seemed appeased. He released his hold on the Soldier’s hair, dropping his hand to his shoulder and applying pressure.

‘It doesn’t matter. Sit back now, we must assess the damage.’

‘I…I knew her.’ The Soldier said, not recognising the voice that sounded so high and unsure. He looked Dürrenmatt in the eye, his gaze questioning. ‘I knew her.’ He repeated more firmly, though he was still seeking reassurance. He was convinced it was true, he just didn’t know how it could be.

‘She was your mission.’ Dürrenmatt said flatly, pushing at the Soldier with more insistence. ‘We have been tracking her for some time now. That is all it is.’

This was clearly a lie, but the Soldier was programmed not to question his superiors. He suppressed the desire to do so and finally let himself be pushed back onto his chair, swinging his legs up onto the footrest. Keepers appeared either side of him as Dürrenmatt backed away, two strapping his arms down while another held out the mouth guard. He parted his lips obediently, helping the man slot it into place.

His nostrils flared as the machine curved down over his head, his breaths coming too fast and too shallow. A tear slowly rolled down his cheek and just before the pain came and the screams started, the elusive image he’d been trying to chase fluttered into focus:

 

_a room hazy with smoke, poorly lit but loud with conversation and singing_   
_a flash of red_   
_‘I might, even, when this is all over, go dancing.’_   
_‘Then what are we waiting for?’_

&&&

Peggy paced back and forth, her left wrist clutched to her chest while her right held a Hot-R-Cold-Pak to the swollen joint. She didn’t think it was broken, which was something, but the painful throb was toeing the line of being bearable. Between that and the cut on her temple, not to mention the multitude of bruises she could feel blossoming across her torso, she was amazed she was still on her feet. She probably ought to be resting; the living room-cum-bedroom of the safe house wasn’t really big enough to pace around as she was, not when she was still feeling slightly dizzy from the fight and the blow to her head, but she refused to take a seat.

She was filled with a nervous tension, too keyed up to sit still and wait for Howard. What was taking him so long, anyway? He usually drove like the devil, surely he should be here by now? She glanced at the clock on the wall; yes, it had been well over an hour since she’d called him on his private line and told him where she was and that he had to get here.  
She didn’t remember the details of the phone call. Her mind had been clouded with adrenaline and fear and she was sure she’d babbled something nonsensical down the telephone, but hopefully he’d understood well enough. She’d see when he arrived.

With a sigh she bent over the kitchen counter, elbows braced against it and her head hanging low. She drew in a deep breath, then released it slowly through parted lips, trying to calm her thoughts and her still racing heart. The events of the night, although they had only happened mere hours ago, seemed distant and almost like they had been a dream. Or perhaps nightmare would be the more appropriate word to use.

A sudden hammering on the front door yanked her from her reverie and she jumped, her hand flying to the gun at her hip. Her palm was clammy against the cool metal, but she gripped it tightly and moved silently to the door, pausing by it and cocking her head to listen. There was the scraping sound of shoes on gravel, perhaps as the person on the other side twisted to look over his shoulder to the darkened street, but nothing else. Just to make sure, Peggy peered through the peephole then, satisfied, she reholstered her gun and began the long process of releasing the various locks and bolts that kept the house secure.

She opened the door just wide enough to let Howard slip in sideways, then immediately pushed it shut again, locking it tight once more.

‘What happened?’ Howard was asking; he hadn’t gone further into the room but was instead hovering just behind her.

Peggy took her time with the last deadbolt, knowing what would happen as soon as she turned around and Howard caught sight of her. She was a mess and it hadn’t even occurred to her to try and make herself presentable; the shock of the fight had completely disorientated her.

‘You said there was an attack? Who— Christ, Peggy!’ Howard’s jaw dropped when she finally faced him. He reached forward, cupping her arm as he dragged her over to the bed and closer to the light of the single lamp she’d switched on. Even though the curtains were shut, she hadn’t wanted to risk the place looking too well-lit from the outside. ‘What the hell happened? Do you need to go to the hospital?’ He gripped her chin gently and tilted her head to the side, wincing as he took in the dried blood smeared across her forehead and the bruise on her cheekbone. His gaze dropped, and Peggy knew he was checking for bloodstains on her blouse.

‘It’s alright, I’m just a bit banged up. No bullet or knife wounds to worry about.’ She told him, her tone smooth and not betraying the tremors she could still feel inside. She was good at holding it together; Howard liked to say it was because she was British, and maybe there was an element of truth in that, but mostly it was a result of the kind of work she’d held for over a decade. People – her male colleagues over the years – always expected hysterics, so she’d long since learnt to stifle her emotions and put up a front.

Howard shook his head. ‘Well, I guess that’s something. You’re favouring your arm.’ He nodded towards the wrist she was holding against her chest again. ‘Broken?’

‘I don’t think so, but it should be bound. Would you mind?’ She nodded towards the medical kit she’d brought out of the bathroom when she first arrived, most of the contents strewn on the bedspread. Howard nodded and rummaged through it until he found a bandage, and Peggy finally allowed herself to sink down onto the mattress. She turned, one leg half folded beneath her, and Howard shoved the rest of the supplies out of the way and sat next to her, bracing her arm on his leg as he set to work.

‘Was it Hydra?’ He asked.

Peggy watched as he carefully wound the bandage around her arm. ‘Yes.’ She said softly. ‘They sent someone after me, an assassin. You’ll have to be careful, they might send one for you too.’

Howard glanced up. ‘I’ll put out an alert, up the security where I can. I’m not the only one who’ll have to watch out. Hydra’ll be pretty damn mad that they failed, the next guy they send for you will be better prepared.’

Peggy hummed in agreement, although she wanted to believe that Hydra wouldn't be stupid enough to attempt another assassination so soon after a failure, and turned her arm – with only the smallest noise of pain – so Howard could tie off the end of the bandage neatly. ‘I only just got away,’ she admitted. ‘The man, he…he was strong, incredible reflexes.’ She frowned, noticing for the first time that her nail polish was chipped.

‘He’ll have been trained for this kind of thing.’ Howard reasoned, but Peggy shook her head.

‘No, it was more than that, almost like he wasn’t a regular human. He was fast, relentless, almost mechanical.’ She hesitated, steeling herself to finish the story. The admission she was about to make was a difficult one and she wasn’t looking forward to the look she knew Howard would give her when she told him.

‘Peggy? What is it?’

She raised her head, looking him straight in the eye and willing him to forego pity and believe her. ‘Howard…it was _Steve_.’


End file.
